Crimson Hood
by Mr. ducky the original
Summary: This is why I shouldn't read classic books... We all know the story of red and the wolf, but I am retelling it- my way. A man with a red hood and a mysterious background offers to help rid a village of it's local wolf problem. But this isn't any ordinary wolf. Sorry for writing so literately, can't be helped. Warning- possible sexual themes: Yaoi/Yuri/Straight/Whatevs i feel like


The town was eerily quiet as he walked down the road. Few were outside of their small, warm homes as the blizzard bit into any exposed flesh with it's numbing cold. Those that were out scurried quickly between the buildings, not for the sake of warmth. Warmth would never be enough to chase away the cold inside, the bone-chilling cold of fear. He shouldered his bag against the freezing wind blowing from behind him, the snow danced in the air, the small ice crystals as sharp as blades or so it felt. The snow underfoot provided treacherous ground, too soft, far too deep. The deepest of drifts could easily crest a man's full height, but for now the road only engulfed him to the knees. He looked around for the tavern building, all settlements had one, did they not? His thoughts brightened considerably as he saw the large, slanting building coming out from the mid-day darkness. Only fifty feet away, but barely visible. He trudged on, letting his thoughts go to warm food, and some to pack as well, that he might quickly be on his way. A tightness began to make itself felt around his neck, he placed his ungloved hands, pale as the stars from cold, between his flesh and the hood scarf that wound it's way through the air several feet behind him, like a tailing, scarlet ghost.-

The fire burned extremely warm in it's small place. The smoke rising from the chimney in great puffs, like a testament against the storm. A large pot, a cauldron really, hung just above it being stirred constantly by an aging woman known for being as warm and welcomed as the flames themselves in a frozen over home. What was in the pot, few could tell. The woman would add things so quickly, it was hard to believe she had a purpose in her movements. The stew, though very seasoned, was delicious as all her strange creations and not many would complain after simply encountering the scent. A larger man stood behind a counter near the edge of the fire's light. He sharpened a long knife on a small grind stone trying, it seemed, to make the most perfectly sharpened blade in the world. Two other, less notable persons filled the room's atmosphere with idle chatter as they waited on the completion of their meal. One, a man with an ornate, but cheap cloak of fur sat in a wooden chair, the finest in the room as well as closest to the fire. The other was a woman, young as well as beautiful, in a foreign way to what the local people of the small town would say. Suddenly, the elder woman inclined towards the large, heavy door. What little sense everyone in the room thought she had suddenly flew like the birds had weeks ago. The man behind the counter ran towards her, though he would never reach her before she reached the door with his weight, still it was an impressive sight. The other two simply gathered as close to the fire as they could.-

He reached for the small, metal handle of the great door. His fingers slipped over the ice that had collected on the iron, he suddenly realized that his hands didn't register feeling. As he tried to grasp the metal handle once again, the door was suddenly flung open quickly. He stood tall in the doorway but did not move as he was taken aback for but one moment as his mind, perhaps over actively, considered the physical strength of the small, hunched elder standing in front of him as compared to the weight and resistance of the large wooden door now resting beside said woman. She grabbed hold of his coat cuff and quickly but not forcibly guided him inside, shutting the heavy barrier between them and the cold just as suddenly as she had opened it. The larger man nearly had a hold of the small woman before she had so fearlessly opened the door, the cold driving him back for her. The guttering fire resettled it's self, restoring the light that had nearly been lost in such brief a time as the door having been open. The old woman, still towing the newest member of the room, positioned herself back over the stew. She gestured towards the fire as if the newcomer had forgotten how to warm himself. He held his hands as closely as he safely could, watching the steam come off of his black, tightly woven sleeves.

Everyone else, despite being severely unsettled by the blast of cold, eventually began settling back in their respective places, though conversation between the two other foreigners was slow to reestablish. In the meantime, the large man who was now back behind the counter began to entertain himself with a small, blue bound book. As the steam stopped flowing from the black coat, the man wearing it finally began to regain his feeling in his hands. He removed his hood but kept his scarf tied tightly. He pulled his hair from beneath it, feeling the eyes of the beautiful woman staring as the long, black hair fell around his neck, allowing only small glimpses of red to peak between the thinly stranded curtain. It took some time for the other man in the room notice that his partner in conversation was no longer in the chatting mood, he politely reclined in his chair so as to not bother her ogling.

By this time the elder made her way over to a large wooden cabinet situated behind the counter by the reading man that shelved several wooden eating implements and vessels. Stacking several bowls within each other to be held in one hand, she simultaneously filled her other with spoons, slightly larger than what one would normally use to eat with though not by much. She carefully, but very quickly, set a wooden table in the corner with the dishes, the bowls filled with the steaming mystery stew. She rapped her spoon hard on the table before sitting herself down.

At the sound, the merchant immediately moved towards the eating table, lightly pulling his partner along to snap her out of her trance. The man reading looked up from his book not having noticed the woman setting the table, he too was quick to gravitate towards it until noticing the number of bowls was equivalent to the number of people in the room. He sent a quick, inquisitive glare at the woman who had gone through the trouble of preparing the meal, enough food to easily last three days. He opened his mouth to reprimand her as though she had no say in the keeping of the tavern.

"Not _Everyone _here has paid for the night _Mother._"

His tone was curt and the elder looked at her much larger, pork-bellied child with minimal disdain. She thus armed herself with a large wooden spoon as if to say, in more modern terms

'Bring it on'

The atmosphere in the room thickened, the foreigners by now had placed themselves at the table but had yet to touch their food that their stomachs ached for so longingly, they instead stared at the small match being conducted between matriarch and scion most likely due to some manner that they know of in their native country to await the arrival of all meal participants before eating. Before the simple argument exploded into an actual skirmish, the newest arrival to the tavern stepped near the old woman. He held out his hand depositing several silver and copper coins into hers before making his way past the glaring but now contempt giant, seating himself at the table across from the merchant. The two others sat on the opposite ends of the table, still sore but at least put at ease to have the argument over. The woman served everyone a bowl from the fire, slopping down her son's in front of him causing it to slosh around in the bowl, but not yet spill. She gave her newest customer a surprise as well, a little extra meat in the bowl as if to say

'far too thin'

and some of his coin back, he had payed excess anyway. He begrudgingly returned the silver back into his pocket but once more offered the copper to the the kind woman. She made to push it right back to him with a glare of her own before her son reached heavily across the table, slamming his hand down on the coins to claim as his own. The merchant and his companion were the only ones to jump at the sudden, violent movement. The elder resigned to henceforth ignore her brat of a man child and kindly smiled to the startled guest, the meal began without further delay, and without conversation.


End file.
